It’s an ending. And a beginning.
Filing for divorce isn’t something I ever thought I’d be doing, but life is full of countless moments we never expected.
It’s a surreal feeling, considering I was raised in a home where divorce wasn’t a word that was spoken. Marriage is sacred and forever. A lifelong commitment you make to someone, for better or worse, in sickness and health, until death do you part.
Except, I learned that sometimes the “’til death do you part” tidbit doesn’t have to be literally kicking the bucket. There are many ways to die in a relationship.
I cherished my marriage. I fought for it when things got tough. And then, silently, I grieved the loss while still wearing the ring.
The last year has taught me that I’m a hell of a lot stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I’ve always been independent and confident, but the ways my soul shattered in recent months showed me a strength I didn’t realize I had.
My coffee is getting cold as I sit in this little cafe downtown. I can practically hear the echoes of Brandon’s raised voice from countless arguments swirling over people’s chatter and the whirring of the espresso machines.
I’m trying to keep busy, procrastinating watching game footage on my laptop, as if I’m on a deadline.
I am—except I have four more days to finish watching sixty minutes of game play for an upcoming interview, and I don’t need four days for that. I’m stalling. Avoiding the inevitable because even though there’s relief in this part of my story, I can’t help the feeling of sadness in my chest. And there’s a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach, something that feels so heavy I can’t physically leave this stupid chair.
I inhale a deep breath, in through my nose for four seconds, hold for four seconds and out through my mouth for four seconds. The aroma of coffee fills my senses, and I instantly relax my shoulders.
A thousand memories play in my mind.
Brandon and I fell in love at twenty-two the moment we met. God, it wasinstant. And it was consuming. But looking at it now…maybe it was reckless and forced. There was no friendship beforehand, nothing to build on. No taking things slow. No late nights up talking. No tender moments that felt like home.
We jumped and we soared. But rose-colored glasses only work for so long until they eventually become distorted. Weoutgrew each other in all the ways that mattered. And now he’s someone I don’t even recognize.
I sigh, leaning back against the chair and close my laptop before placing it back into my tote.
Get up, Demi,I internally shout at myself.
Just because it’s the end of my marriage, doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.
Endings can be beautiful too.
I repeat the words in my head over and over until I can breathe without my eyes watering. I hate that I feel sad. Because I shouldn’t. He sure as hell doesn’t. And not because I’m upset about being thirty-five and single—it’s something much deeper. A different level of heartache. Even though I know this is the right decision, it’s still there.
Failure.
I feel like I failed. Likewefailed. Like I let everyone down by ending my marriage. Because even though he was the one who initiated our downfall—I’m the one who left, the one who filed for divorce, and after today I’ll be the one who serves him the paperwork.
My phone dings with a text from Greg, my boss at the network. He’s letting me know I’ll be assigned to cover the interviews for the Tampa Bay Knights training camp next season and the corners of my mouth tip up. I’ve always enjoyed working with the Knights, and it’s definitely a chance to continue proving why I deserve more large-scale interviews—maybe even a broadcast position for the prime-time games.
Just get up, Demi.There it is again.
“Are you doing okay over here?” A petite blonde girl with glasses and a sleeve of cups in her hand pulls my attention away from my phone.
I stare at her blankly for a few seconds, noticing the ring on her left hand.
I’ve let this marriage make me feel small for long enough. I’ve begged for the bare minimum. I bent over backward trying to please him for longer than I needed to. I bit my tongue when things bothered me just to keep the peace. How fucking silly of me to think his voice meant more than mine.
“I’m good, thank you. Just packing up,” I say, offering the barista a smile.
Just get up, Demi.
And this time, I do.
PRESENT
Being one of the only women in a male-dominated field is a challenge—add in the fact that I’m a Dominican woman talking about sports in a highly competitive field, and I really chose the path with the most resistance. But it’s a challenge I’m always up for. The crew I work with for the Knights is amazing, but I still see comments online where people question me and the other female broadcasters. When I first started, I was the only woman in the room during meetings, but now, at least there’s two of us.
